The Murderer's Son
by thisisntidris
Summary: - What if, on the Hogwarts express, Harry HAD shaken Draco Malfoy's hand? - The boy with the dark mark is more than he seems as we dive into his life: his birth, his family, his meeting of the boy who lived. . . but with a twist.


Narcissa Malfoy had been so very sure she never wanted much to do with any child she ever had. She had very little experience with children at the age of 23, but what little she did have revolved simply around the bare facts that when they first started out, they were untrained, little red blobs, who spit, gurgled and made tedious messes one had to clean. They were not pleasant. Therefore, when she found she was to have one of her own, she said a simple word to her husband, who dotingly bestowed four maids upon her, promising not a day's work would be done for this child by her hands. And that was that.

So they were there, she knew nine months later as the healer arrived and she listened to the loud arguing of her husband and sister over some nonsense about the child, that they were there, out in the hallway, waiting for a baby to be born so they could commence with their toil. She knew they were there, and it was a comfort.

"Not long now, Mrs. Malfoy," the healer said congenially, flashing her a tentative smile and standing straight. "You'll have a child in just a few hours time. Now, for the remainder I recommend-"

"I don't care what your opinions on the matter are, Bellatrix," Lucius Malfoy snarled over the Healer's gentle advice. "My son will be named what _I_ please."

" _She_ will be the boldest of women, his greatest servant besides myself-" Bellatrix screeched, voice piercing and making Narcissa's pounding head pain magnify. "It is only suiting that she be named _after_ myself-"

"You?" he let out a bitterly amused chortle. "You may be one at the right hand, my dear Bellatrix, but if you think for a moment any offspring of mine will hold your name-"

Narcissa let out a tempered moan. Her eyes darted over to the Healer, who was visibly uncomfortable. It was evident who they were by her husband's current conversation. She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach.

"Lucius?" she called, voice strained, talking quickly so as to interrupt before her husband could speak again. "The Healer-" She looked towards where he had been, seeing only empty space. The man must have let himself out. She let out a huff of annoyed breath. Lucius and Bellatrix could be heard continuing their bickering.

"Bellatrix!" she snapped loudly. "Come here!"

The conversation stopped abruptly. A pause passed before the squeal of a chair being pushed back echoed throughout the room. Bellatrix, dark hair wild, skin a healthy creamy white, appeared at her side with strained face.

"Is the baby to be born now, Narcissa? Is it time?" Her eyes were eager, large and bulging as she stared at the bulge in her sister's dress. This did not do wonders for Cissie's nerves.

"No," she clipped. "Get out."

Bellatrix looked stunned. "Cissy! Your own sister! Why would you wish me away?"

Narcissa opened her mouth to respond but before she could a figure appeared gracefully just behind her shoulder.

"I believe, Bellatrix," Lucius Malfoy spoke smoothly. "My wife was simply stating her desire for us to be alone. You can surely comprehend _that._ "

Narcissa Malfoy always felt like a ray of sunlight had shone suddenly across her face when her husband walked into a room. His hair, so light a blond it was nearly white, could indeed hurt one's eyes when it was in direct light. He cut an intimidating figure, jaw tight with displeasure at the moment, broad shoulders back. Lucius Malfoy stood tall and thin, a cane twirling in his left hand lazily, his eyes moving slowly from his sister in law down to his wife. He was dressed well for the occasion, making her feel almost foolish in her simple nightgown, his dress robes dark green, only adding to the piercing effect of his eyes. Narcissa had been in a sort of odd awe of him since the day her father introduced them, his green eyes seeming to cut through all borders she might have put up between them. Their marriage had its fair share of loving moments, or so she thought cautiously, but in the ache of her head in that moment, she thought had never loved him more, as Bellatrix murmured some argumentative phrases but finally agreed and left them in silence.

Narcissa let out a long held breath. "Oh, heavens, thank you. You can't have known how her screeching," she grimaced. "Was getting to my head."

"I can only imagine," he said cooly, green eyes cutting to hers as he dragged an ornate chair beside the bed with his cane and sat down.

She moved closer to the edge and looked up at him, feeling the pain in her skull ebbing. She took a cautious breath, his eyes not leaving hers for a moment, staring in pondering contemplation. She took the leap and tentatively stretched out a hand, brushing his arched cheek with the back of a hand. "It might be a while, Lucius," she said, her voice tired even to her ears. "You might wish to leave."

He didn't move for a moment, only stared, and she thought, for a moment, his gaze might have softened, but, as always, she could never be sure. He pulled back a moment later, making her jump. "No," he said plainly, his voice bored. "I'll endure the wait." And with that, he pulled out a copy of _The Daily Prophet,_ and left his wife to stare at the headline: " _REIGN OF TERROR CONTINUES"_ for the remainder of her labor.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had never really cared much about having a child. She had been comforted by the idea any number of maids she requested at her disposal to take care of the one she had been placed in the awkward position of having. So she had not been expecting the slap of conflicting feelings that slapped her in the face the moment this thing was placed in her arms.

Small, red, shockingly blond, and already huddling close in her arms, the fiercest and most passionate feeling she had ever felt in her life overtook her. It went through her blood like a drug, hit her like a red hot poker someone had dragged across her bare skin.

She would do anything to protect this baby.

This baby was hers.

She looked up from her long gaze, and was shocked to find her eyes were still dry. "Lucius?" she asked suddenly, not even quite sure why.

It seemed strange, since the world had tipped upside down, and completely reoriented itself, that her husband would look the same. But he did. His expression was as pleased as he ever was, with a slight smile curling his lips.

"Excellent," he said, tone satisfied. "We'll name him Draco."

He took her hand gently in his and kissed it lightly, looking content.

They sat for a moment in a strange sort of silence.

Narcissa shocked herself by speaking, feeling the strangest of uncontrollable smiles leaping to her lips. "I. . . Seeing him now. . . Lucius, I- I might actually like another. If you-"

"No, no," Lucius Malfoy cut in, taking up his paper and standing. "That won't be necessary. We have what we wanted."

Lucius Malfoy may have looked the same to his wife at first, but as he left she couldn't help thinking (with a tad bit of guilt on her conscience) that his hair seemed quite a bit less bright, compared to the shock of light currently wrapped in her arms.

* * *

It was warm for late fall in Wiltshire, and the lawn of the Malfoy Manor was warm, as was the breeze that blew threw the hair of the woman stretched out on the lawn. A summer dress and a baby feet away, tearing up pieces of grass with his chubby fists made Narcissa Malfoy let out a laugh.

"Come here, Draco. You'll get your trousers dirty," she chided, holding out her arms to the chubby baby now looking at her with wide grey eyes. After a moment she furrowed her brow. "Come here, Draco," she called, her voice holding a hint of sternness. Not a movement but blinking on behalf of the small child and Mrs. Malfoy sighed. She stood up, scooped up the small child, who immediately began to whine, and walked across the lawn with a lazy spring in her step.

To the average passerby this might've seemed a very peaceful afternoon for a mother and her child, but the servants of the Malfoy manor knew better.

No one had seen Lucius Malfoy for weeks.

The world had been a blur. Men and women in dark robes at the house twice a day at the least, demanding things of her, Narcissa had been obliged to give and not ask. The pure, dazzlingly clear skin of Narcissa Malfoy was beginning to have lines.

It was a stressful time.

She gnawed on her lip absentmindedly, doing nothing to stop the whining of the baby in her arms besides a soft pat on his tufts of hair.

"Miss?" a voice spoke beside her.

She turned to the side where a familiar face stared emotionlessly back at her. "Yes, Bernard, what is it?" she asked tiredly. She had been doing quite a bit 'tiredly' lately.

The butler bowed low. "The morning Prophet, m'am. Just as you asked for." He held out the silver platter in his arms to her, from which she snatched the paper up.

"Thank you, Bernard. That will be all," she said, practically shooing him away.

She walked from him briskly, almost dropping Draco in her haste to set him down, to tear open the paper. Her eyes tore through the paper hungrily, ignoring the headline and searching the articles immediately for news of Lucius.

Several moments passed before she realized she had only absorbed but a few words, none of which were her husband's name. Though there was one name her eyes did catch, one old name, she realized with a jolt of surprised she recognized.

For a moment she sat in dumb confusion. Potter? She knew that name, did she not? Somewhere in the depths of her mind an answer echoed back to her, if only she could _think_ \- James Potter. She remembered him. A year behind her in classes, she remembered his face from the Quidditch matches. But why would he. . ?

She returned to reading this time determined to take in the words of the headline, large, bold, and sickening though she couldn't at first process what it meant.

The air seemed to turn cold around her.

Narcissa didn't hear the crack of apparition next to her face, nor did she see her blood coated, husband, tearing across the lawn towards her in ripped robes. No, she didn't see anything. Because as vague distant shoutings filled her eardrums, all she saw was black encroaching, and suddenly black taking all, a simple phrase echoing in her head.

Their lives would never be the same again.


End file.
